Chapter Twenty-Three
Rory
Her eyes go wide, and if that doesn’t send some kind of primal surge to my dick, then I’m not sure what did. What is it about her that makes me want to push her buttons? Pull her metaphoric pigtails? I don’t want to psychoanalyse my reactions or risk spouting anymore bullshit, so I decided to kiss her, my lips barely touching hers. Chin tilted high, she pushes up on her toes, the points of her fingers white against the kitchen bench as her mouth seeks a more solid contact.
Taunting, teasing, I keep my touches feather soft, my hands feeding around to brush the skin now bared above the waistband of her leggings.Jesus wept, the small whimpers she makes have me rock fucking hard.
My fingers against the sharpness of her hips, I turn her to face me and kiss her properly. Solidly. Teasing over. For now.
Her lips don’t taste of lip gloss today, but there’s still that hint of sweet need in her sighs as we kiss. Soft lips and tiny nips, a little tongue and she’s squirming beautifully against me, and in all the right places.
‘I see a pattern,’ she says between small pants as my lips slide over her neck, her arse now in my hands.
‘Fuck that.’ This is more growl than actual words. ‘I want you to see fucking stars. For you to be so high you could reach out and touch them.’
‘Oh.’ She pulls just far enough away that I see her lips look slightly swollen and lipstick red, but not far enough that my hands move from her arse. Her hair is a mess from where I’d threaded my fingers, the cream of her bra just visible from where I’ve worked her t-shirt.Fucking beautiful. ‘I—I meant you. A pattern of sex while standing.’
‘I’ll fuck you wherever you want.’ I pull her back to my mouth briefly, twisting her until her arse is pressed against my front, our feet scuffling against the uneven flagstones until she’s bent over the old wooden table. ‘How about here?’ I press myself harder against the cheeks of her cotton clad arse, just a few thin layers of fabric away from where I want to be.
Christ, if she were any hotter, we’d both be frying.
‘Still technically standing.’ Her cheek is pressed against the scarred oak and under the loose strands of her hair I can see she’s smiling.Or maybe dazed.
‘Technically, I don’t care,’ I almost grunt, pushing her feet wider with my booted ones. I’m so hard already and the heat between her legs has me panting like a whore. God, I want this pussy and I want it quick as my eyes scan the kitchen for an alternative to keeping her on her feet.
‘How about a chair?’ There are several ancient looking ones around the table, the kind that look as though they’d be cold and uncomfortable against bare skin. They don’t look like they’d withstand much exertion either, and I want her hard—I want to see the sweat on her skin, feel it matting in her fair hair. I want to taste it on my tongue as I lick it from her neck.
My mind works on overdrive as I continue to pulse into her behind, as beneath me, she squirms making those breathy little sounds. It’s all I can do to stop myself from popping my fly and ripping the material down her legs.
‘I hate to tell you, titch, but I don’t see a bed.’ She pushes the hair from her face, holding her hand out towards me so I take it, pulling her upright and flush against my chest again. ‘I’m happy here,’ I whisper into the skin of her neck, following it up with a kiss. A press of teeth. A little tongue. ‘Right now, I’d happily spread you across the table and lick you from arse to clit, but it’s up to you. Just make it quick.’ She quivers as I feed my hands under her t-shirt, though her words contradict her body.
‘Are you in a hurry?’
‘You could say that,’ I half growl.
‘Have you thought about me?’ She tilts her head to look at me as best she can; her face pink as much from kissing and touching as her next words. ‘I’ve thought about you. So much.’ The softness of her tone catches me off guard. ‘I can still see our reflections in the mirror as you’d pounded into me.’
And now I can see it, too. ‘Your mouth says pounded, your mind thinks fucked.’ I whisper the latter into her ear with a hardFthat causes her to shiver. ‘Did you touch yourself while reminiscing?’
‘Maybe,’ she replies with something more breath than a laugh. ‘What about you?’
‘You want to know if I’ve imagined...’ I trail my hands across her body, coming to rest them just short of her inner thighs. ‘If I’ve remembered, cock in hand? Heard your soft mewls and imagined your sweet pussy, relived the night again?’
Her breath hitches and she pushes into my hands, letting out a breathy, ‘Yes.’
‘No. Not a bit, titch.’
‘Liar,’ she says, laughing softly. At least until I slide my hand into the front of her pants.
‘If you’ve an objection to being bent over the table, you’d better show me where you prefer to fuck.’
Moments later our feet are crunching over the weed-choked gravel as we make our way to what was once, I know, a line of stables, that were remodelled some years ago into a row of holiday homes. I hang back a little to admire the view, the sight of her arse in those leggings doing fuck all to ease the strain in my jeans.
‘Four cottages.’ As we stop at the first door of the old stable block, now painted a weather worn red, she turns, raising her voice against the rising strength of the wind. ‘I’d say they’re a recent addition to the property.’ Turning back again, she stands on the tips of her toes, reaching to the top of the door frame.
‘I don’t care if it’s a fucking midden so long as I get inside you.’
‘What was that?’ She twists her head over her shoulder, the suggestion of a smile tweaking her lips.
